


Body Art as an Expression of Personal Philosophy

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-10
Updated: 2011-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:48:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken mistake lead to a rum situ!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Art as an Expression of Personal Philosophy

**Author's Note:**

> in response to this discussion. [A gentleman's tattoo](http://indeedsir.livejournal.com/971960.html)

“It’s your fault, since you insist on leaving me!” Mr. Wooster’s words are directed at me, but I take no offense. These words are the result of reacting to the discovery I have just made, not what he will feel once he knows my opinion. I know how he feels and thinks, as well as any person may know another, so I take no offense at the words. My own feelings are those of curiosity and trepidation.

I returned from my annual vacation a few hours early, eager to resume my duties. Mr. Wooster was to spend the time with his favorite aunt and her chef, Anatole. Four days ago, however, I receive a letter from Mr. Wooster. In his usual flamboyant, humorous style he informed me he’d be in London upon my return. It seems his least favorite aunt had arrived with a marriageable young lady. My vacation lost its charm, as I could not help but worry about Mr. Wooster’s safety and comfort. Waiting until my official return was rather stressful, so I allowed myself to arrive early.

Mr. Wooster had greeted me, but seemed determined to avoid me. Only now that I have confirmation, am I willing to state that he did not wish for me to see his buttocks. As he was wearing pants most of the time, this was particularly suspicious. But as I help him change clothes and bathe, if he truly wished for me to never see it, we would need to part ways. That is not my preference, so I contrived to accelerate the unveiling.

Perhaps it was not very gentlemanly of me, but I felt it was in my employer’s best interest. I added a kettle of hot water to his bath and did not stir it into the rest of the water. Much as a calm lake will have a layer of sun warmed water over the colder depths, his bath now had a thermocline. Mr. Wooster did not notice anything amiss with his legs as his humming did not change as he got in. Or so I have determined, as he had sent me out of the room on a made up errand.

Upon his yell of discomfort and surprise, I returned to attend him. I was very careful, and the water was not even hot enough to turn his alabaster skin pink, so the blue caught my eye. Blue ink glittering across my Master’s ‘pillowy bits’ but his hand covers it before I get a good look. He’s accusing me over his shoulder, but I think his cheeks are burning with sham and not anger.

“Sir,“ I start to speak but change my words. I could pretend I was only concerned with the distressed noise I heard, or I could resolve this issue. “It is your body and I have no right to pass judgment on what you chose to do with it.”

His flush deepens, and he looks down but does not move his hand. His foot stirs the water for a moment before he lowers himself, slowly, into the water. I wait for a direction from him as his hand finally leaves his backside to grab his rubber duck. “Thing is, Jeeves, I got back from the country to an empty flat. Couldn’t quite deal with that, so I went to the drones for tea. Stayed for supper and Porky Hooten’s bachelor party after. Don’t know Porky that well, but got rather sloshed at his do. Don’t remember leaving the Drones, or getting back to the flat, but at some point the party moved here.”

His narration trails off as he maneuvers the duck around. I hold my tongue, believing he needs to make his confession in his own time. Though the company would explain the lack of liquor and comestibles in the flat, a puzzle I had discovered upon my return.

“Place was a wreck, even after I got the drones out. Hired a couple of maids to scrub it down, so you wouldn’t have to come back to that.” His consideration for me is unnecessary, as I expected to thoroughly clean the flat when I returned. Still, his words evoke warm feeling in my chest. “Finally got to take a bath, used the hand mirror to exam that sore spot I’d noticed.”

He has not looked away from his duck yet, so I feel his confession isn’t over. I am unsure what else he needs to say, as worse things have happened after a night of drunken debauchery. Mr. Wooster might easily have become engaged while under the influence of strong drink, an occurrence that would happen more if the Drones wasn’t a gentleman’s club.

“Jeeves, I know what you’re thinking. Well, not really, as you’ll be thinking in big words and philosophomoric ideas.” A wave of his hand dismisses my need to tell him the word is philosophic and he continues. “Worse things than a tattoo that few will ever see, if one conducts self as a preux chevalier. Not what worries me, actually. My worry is what the blasted thing says, and what you’ll say when you see what it says.”

It does surprise me that he is more concerned with content than the actual fact of its existence, as my eyebrow will relate. Not having touched a bar of soap, Mr. Wooster takes a deep, steadying breath and stands. His arms cross his chest, out of fear and not modesty. I step forward to get a good look at the cause of this discomfort. The calligraphy is beautifully done, but the words set off an explosion in me. I fight back the emotions, as my brain demands an explanation.

“Sir,” another false start, as I have to clear the lump in my throat. “Sir, are you aware of what this phrase means?”

“One of those poet johnnies, used it instead of tender pash.”

“Shakespeare, Sir. Romeo and Juliet, act 1 scene 1, said by Romeo.” Retreating into facts to avoid the situation staring me in the face, as I am want to do. I need to look away, but find I cannot. The blue ink trailing across Mr. Wooster’s bum is beguiling me.

“You know best, Jeeves.”

“I know Shakespeare, Sir. I find I must ask you to explain the other letters, least my mind form erroneous conclusions.”

“You’re right, Jeeves. They are, you know, your initials.” His voice is so soft, the world so silent, I expect him to be able to hear the emotions breaking free in me. Instead he breaks the silence by sitting heavily in the tub to converse with his duck. “So what are you going to do to the foolish young man who loves you?”

“I am going to kneel beside him and the tub, so that I might kiss him.” He jerks and turns around to look at me. Only surprise shows in his eyes, as he’s not sure he heard me correctly. Shedding my morning coat, I do as I said I would. When his mouth opens in surprise, I allow my tongue the much desired exploration of his mouth. Eventually, I break the kiss and let him lean back in the tub, to be rewarded by his expression of rapture. I am not prepared for him to practically jump out of the tub, so it’s rather easy for him to lay me on my back.

I began removing my clothes, to protect them from his eager fingers, and find a moment to wonder if any of the Drones remember which tattoo artist they visited. It would be safest if they didn’t, but I want to reciprocate, despite the risks. A tattoo in the same place, yes, but the ink would need to be a lighter shade of blue to match his eyes. The Bard’s words, ‘A madness most discreet’ folded into a heart around the B.W. of his name would be lovely indeed!


End file.
